


Burnt Bridges

by the_tenth_muse1



Series: You Can't Pick Your Family [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_tenth_muse1/pseuds/the_tenth_muse1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of SHIELD, Mycroft anxiously awaits word on Melinda's fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnt Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across this while looking for a different fic entirely. You can thank Juli that I found and posted it. :D new note 12/31/15 - I realized I had Q's name wrong. that's all that was changed

Mycroft stared with horror as he watched the live disintegration of S.H.I.E.L.D. on international television. Just minutes ago, Anthea had interrupted his meeting with two rather important diplomats and quickly escorted the gentlemen out before returning to switch on the television.

“How did we not know?” Mycroft finally managed to ask.  _How did I not know?_

Anthea said, “From what we’ve pieced together so far, it came from within, Sir. From the highest of levels. This wasn’t an incursion, it was a coup.”

Mycroft stared at the carnage of the destroyed ship and said, “Not a bloodless one.”

“No, Sir.”

“And Fury?”

“Dead, from all reports.”

Mycroft had never liked the man – he was far too American for that – but had admired his grit and honor. “Pity. I want as much information about what’s going on as soon as possible.”

Anthea nodded and said, “Yes, Sir,” before leaving once more.

Mycroft continued to stare at the television screen as he thought,  _Where are you, Melinda? Why haven’t I heard from you?_

* * * *

“Oh, my God.”

The utter disbelief in John’s voice garnered Sherlock’s immediate attention. He looked up from the microscope at the table to find John where he’d left him: sitting on the sofa watching telly. From the expression on John’s face, some sort of disaster had happened, but there was a personal horror there as well. Someone they knew had been caught up in it. Not someone they knew well – John wasn’t shutting down in grief – but definitely someone important. Not the Queen or a Royal, John would be on his feet. And no children were involved, because John would be vibrating with rage as he always did when a child was hurt. So. An adult acquaintance of relative importance to merit their passing on television…

Sherlock came up blank, which he despised. Grumbling to himself, he looked at the television where a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier was pictured crashed into the Delaware River.

The sober black woman reporting the news on television said, “…now labeled a terrorist organization. Reports are still unclear as to how the attacks occurred, but multiple helicarriers have been downed across the globe. Armed fighting within S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks, on the streets, in their bases, has broken out and casualties appear to number in the thousands. We will keep you updated as events unfold.”

John looked over at Sherlock and said, “We need to call Mycroft. Make sure he’s all right. Check on Melinda. If, if he has any news.”

Sherlock didn’t disagree.

* * * *

There had been mutterings for months now in the dark net. Quinlan hadn’t been able to put the clues together. He’d seen the connections, but been unable to parse the motives and, therefore, the endgame. He’d known something big was going on, but hadn’t been able to discover what despite his repeated hacking attempts.

Now, with MI5 on full lockdown and Bond  _out there_  trying to coral rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, it was all too clear what had been unfolding… a revolution.

“Q. M wants to see you.”

Moneypenny’s voice startled him. Quinlan didn’t stop typing. “Not now.”

She walked over to him and, though her tone was gentle, her grip on his arm was firm. “Yes, now. You need to stop.”

“You don’t understand,” Quinlan protested, then fell silent. It wasn’t as though he could say his eldest brother was involved with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. That would compromise Mycroft officially.

Moneypenny arched a delicate eyebrow, but when he didn’t continue, said, “M needs your assessment on this right away. You  _have_  been putting together that official assessment he asked for, right? It’s been an hour.”

She didn’t need to say, “And you never take an hour,” because Quinlan had finished the assessment within twenty minutes. He’d spent the remaining forty searching for Melinda. He told her, “Yes, I just need to do one more thing. I’m almost done, I promise. Cover for me? I just need ten, fifteen minutes more.”

Moneypenny’s dark eyes watched him intently for a moment in the same way James’ did sometimes, as if trying to pry out all his secrets. She finally said, “Ten minutes and not a minute more.”

Quinlan smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

She nodded and left him to it.

One of his algorithms pinged softly and Quinlan spun his stool to the computer. An accounting of the dead so far. It wasn’t complete, of course, no one had yet taken an official roster of the injured or deceased because the fighting wasn’t yet done.

_James, be safe,_  he thought briefly.

Quinlan did a simple search of the list of 3,576 names and Melinda May was nowhere to be found. He sagged in relief, temporary though it might be. Another algorithm pinged and he spun in that direction. Facial recognition had picked her up in…  _Canada? What on earth is she doing there?_

He shook it off as irrelevant and picked up his private mobile, dialing Mycroft.

“Yes, Quinlan.”

Mycroft sounded as unaffected as ever, though Quinlan knew it a lie from the short response. His eldest brother was never that short with him. Sherlock was an entirely different story. “She’s not dead. One of my facial recognition programs picked her up in Canada as of twelve hours ago.”

There was a brief pause and an ever-so-faint sigh from the other end. Mycroft said, “Thank you, Quinlan. Please go back to work. I’d like not to worry that MI5 has put you in confinement for dereliction of duty.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes a bit. “I finished the assessment.”

“And now you should go deliver it,” Mycroft said firmly. “Thank you, really. It’s… a relief.”

Quinlan wished he could do more, but didn’t want to tax either Mycroft or M further. “I’ll keep you apprised of any updates.”

“Please do.” Mycroft disconnected without further ado.

Quinlan took his remaining three minutes to call James on his official phone.

“A little busy right now, Q,” James said, sounding breathless. A series of gunshots echoed sharply through the phone. “Never mind. Taken care of. What’s wrong?”

Quinlan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Nothing, just checking in. While I trust R to run things, I don’t like him to run you, personally.”

James chuckled, the sound almost wicked. “No one runs me but you, Q, you should know that by now.”

It took less than a second for the meaning to sink in. “Oh for the love of all that’s holy, 007. Where did you conveniently lose your comms  _this_  time?”

“Not to worry, love. I’ll pick them back up on the way in.”

Quinlan scowled and said, “I wanted to let you know that as of twelve hours ago, Melinda was safe.”

“Good,” James replied. “You called Mycroft.”

“Just before you.” Quinlan saw Moneypenny walking towards him through his glass wall. “And now Moneypenny is about to glare at me, so I must be off. Do find your comms, 007, or I shall take them out of your pay cheque.”

James laughed and disconnected.

Quinlan picked up the thick folder on his desk and hurried to meet Moneypenny.

* * * *

Three days of meetings with military officials, diplomats, and high-ranking government officials would normally leave Mycroft with an excess of energy. International crises were, after all, his specialty.

Not this time. Ninety-six percent of his brain had been completely engaged with handling the government’s problem with S.H.I.E.L.D. There had been so much damage to contain, the mind boggled. The other four percent had been desperately screaming for confirmation of Melinda’s safety. Quinlan checked in like clockwork with texts on the hour, but other than the one sighting, there’d been nothing to indicate either her safety or… anything else.

Mycroft walked slowly into his city apartment, the lights turning on automatically when he entered the foyer. He shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over the chair as he entered the living room. He walked to the large window and stared out at London, for once not moved at all by the heart of his country. It was no longer his heart, after all; that belonged to Melinda. Even though he’d known, logically, that she could die in the line of action, he hadn’t truly ever believed that she would. She was simply too good. Even now, something inside remained adamant that she was alive and, more than likely, dealing out a beating to someone who’d underestimated her.

As if he’d summoned her with his very thoughts, Melinda’s ringtone sounded from his private mobile. Mycroft pulled it from his pocket immediately and demanded, “Where are you?”

“Safe for the moment. I called my mother and she came to get me,” Melinda admitted. She sounded… exhausted. From everything he’d been told about the elder Mrs. May, it was entirely probable the exhaustion hadn’t come just from being on the run. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry I couldn’t call earlier.”

“Come to London. It’s time to retire, my darling.”

“Mycroft…”

“You owe them nothing, Melinda. You have done so much for that organization and they are simply not worthy of you."

She huffed in apparent amusement. “You don’t think anyone’s worthy of me.”

Mycroft said honestly, “We’re not.”

“I do love you,” Melinda said softly, as if trying not to be overheard. “I’ll… think about it.”

It was, quite honestly, more consideration than he’d expected to get. “What will you do in the meanwhile?”

“Take a bath. I wish you could join me.”

Mycroft smiled at her blunt tone and said smugly, “If you come to London, we could use my tub.”

“You’re not playing fair,” she complained.

Sometimes he rather thought she loved his hot-tub-sized bathtub more than him, but Mycroft would use whatever he had at hand. “It has jets.”

She laughed and said, “Now you’re just being mean. I will think about it, Mycroft, I promise. I have to go. Mother is finished gassing up the car.”

“Please, call me when you get where you’re going.”

“I'll try.”

Mycroft hesitated and said, “I love you, Melinda. Stay safe at all costs. If you need anything, if you’re in over your head, contact me and I will come for you no matter what.”

“I know. I love you too, My.”

She disconnected, leaving Mycroft bereft. He inhaled slowly and exhaled the same way, letting go of all the accumulated stress. Melinda was as safe as she could be and with people she could trust even if she and her mother didn’t get along. He wondered what had happened to her team, but it wasn’t truly relevant. All that mattered was Melinda.

Mycroft dialed Anthea.

She picked up on the first ring, as ever. “Yes, Sir.”

“Melinda is traveling with her mother. Please locate and keep an eye on her.”

“I will, Sir. Personally.”

Mycroft relaxed further. “Thank you, Anthea.”

“It’s my pleasure, Sir. Good night.”

Mycroft disconnected and thought,  _Not quite, but it’s getting better._


End file.
